


A Compromising Position (Day 7)

by chasingriver



Series: 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge - Mycroft/Sherlock [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Autofellatio, Humor, M/M, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 01:30:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingriver/pseuds/chasingriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock puts himself in a compromising position.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Compromising Position (Day 7)

**Author's Note:**

> This is Day 13 of 'ChasingRiver's 30 Day OTP Porn Challenge': "Creating sexual positions"
> 
> Thanks to Deklava for the beta!
> 
>  **Warnings** : sibling incest

_Mycrokft. I need your assistanbce with some4thing. Immrediately. -SH_

_I'll come by this evening. Some of us have to work for a living. What on earth is wrong with your typing? -MH_

_You'll waqnt to see thios. Trust me3. I've almnost giot it. I just needaaaaerfaveraf_

Mycroft stared at his phone in confusion; it wasn't like Sherlock to send texts in gibberish. Thirty seconds later, his phone buzzed again.

_Damn it all. Now I have to start all over again. Just get over here. -SH_

_Where's John? -MH_

_Don't know, don't really care. He's not here, and I wouldn't want his help with this anyway. -SH_

Oh. _That_ sort of assistance. It was almost time to leave anyway.

He checked his calendar - empty for the rest of the day - and informed Anthea that he'd be leaving the office early.

"Enjoy your evening, sir."

"Thank you," he replied, sincerely hoping that would be the case.

He let himself into 221 with his key and made his way upstairs. When he knocked on the door to the flat, he heard a muffled response.

"Just get in here, Mycroft. It's open."

He rolled his eyes. Only Sherlock would be rude to someone he'd already inconvenienced. He walked inside to an apparently empty flat, but sounds of scuffling and the occasional 'thud' emanated from the bedroom.

"What on earth are you… Oh good Lord," Mycroft muttered as he walked into Sherlock's room. He observed his brother with a mix of fascination and amusement and raised a hand to his mouth to stop himself from laughing.

Sherlock lay on his back with his body curled above him into a C-shape. His feet rested just above his head, on the headboard. His spine was doing something a chiropractor would either be very impressed with or utterly horrified by - he wasn't sure. Most notably, Sherlock's semi-erect cock dangled tantalisingly close to his mouth as he tried in vain to pull his thighs closer to his chest.

"Oh, Sherlock," Mycroft said with barely disguised mirth, "Auto-fellatio? Really?"

"It's possible," he said, straining to reach. "I've seen it done. I just need…" he stretched his tongue out as far as he could manage, but it still wasn't far enough. "… some assistance."

Mycroft glanced at Sherlock's phone, within reach on the bed. "You texted me while you were doing this? No wonder your spelling was so bad."

"Come on," Sherlock urged, "shut up and help me already. I can't stay in this position forever."

"Hm, I suppose not," Mycroft smirked. He took his time as he wandered closer to Sherlock's side of the bed. "So, all you need _me_ to do is this…" he pushed gently on Sherlock's thighs, pushing his cock almost - but not quite - within reach of his mouth. It was quite clear that Sherlock's spine could take the half-inch or so more; he just chose not to. It wouldn't do to give Sherlock everything he wanted all at once.

"God yes, Mycroft! Just a little more!" he pleaded. He tried to reach up and grab his thighs, but he couldn't do it without losing his already precarious balance.

Mycroft released the pressure on his thighs and Sherlock nearly screamed in frustration. "Why?" he begged.

"Oh, Sherlock. You don't think just getting it in your mouth would be enough to get you off, do you? I think you're going to need a little more help than that. I'm sure auto-fellatio is a useful skill to master, but your neck is going to get awfully sore if that's the only stimulation you have."

Sherlock braced his feet on the headboard and relaxed a little, then resorted to stroking his cock in frustration.

Mycroft opened the drawer in the bedside table.

"Are you going to help me or not, Mycroft?"

"Oh, yes, of course I'll help you. I wouldn't want to leave you in this state; not when you're _so_ close to succeeding." His voice dripped with honeyed sarcasm as he rifled through the drawer. "Ah. Here we go." He picked up a c-shaped prostate massager and some lube.

"Mycroft, stop being such a tease and… ohhh." He lapsed into silence as he glanced over and saw what Mycroft had in his hand.

"It's almost the same shape as your back at the moment," Mycroft said brightly.

"Why didn't _I_ fucking think of that?" Sherlock muttered under his breath.

"Even if you had, dear brother, you still don't seem capable of getting close enough to your mouth, do you? You'll still need me to help you with that."

Sherlock mumbled something irritated and noncommittal as Mycroft slicked up the toy, but his mutterings turned into a deeply sensual groan as Mycroft slid the buzzing massager deep into his arse. The other half of the toy rested against his perineum, transmitting the vibrations to the sensitive area below his balls. Even in his precarious position, Sherlock squirmed at the intense sensation.

Before Sherlock could say anything else, Mycroft slowly pressed his thighs low enough that he could take his own cock in his mouth.

He wrapped his mouth around it with delight, sucking hard at first, then making it wetter with slobbering kisses as Mycroft held him in position. Mycroft let up on his legs slightly and his cock bobbed back out of reach.

"No!" he practically shouted.

"What do you say?" Mycroft taunted.

"Please!"

"Please what?"

"Please let me have my cock in my mouth!"

"Mm, that's better." Mycroft pushed his legs back down and Sherlock hungrily latched on again. "Look at you, Sherlock, so greedy for your own cock. If I'd known you could do this, I could have saved myself a lot of effort over the years."

Sherlock barely seemed to hear him, lost in the sensation of finally getting his cock in his own mouth.

Mycroft observed him with amusement and enjoyed the few minutes of relative peace, except for the eager slurping sounds of wet mouth on wet cock. Something was off, though; his brother didn't seem to be squirming nearly enough. After a brief mental diagram, he realised that the ridiculous curvature of brother's back made the prostate massager less effective. It was probably barely touching the sensitive gland, if it was even touching it at all.

Well, he could fix that.

He repositioned himself so he could keep Sherlock's thighs down with one arm; now he had a free hand. He sucked a finger into his mouth - Sherlock's hole already glistened with plenty of lube from the toy. Then, without warning, Mycroft pressed his finger into Sherlock's arse and slid it in behind the massager. He pressed the toy against Sherlock's prostate with almost brutal precision, and his brother practically screamed with pleasure, even with his own cock stuffing his mouth.

Mycroft gave him a wicked grin. "How does _that_ feel, Sherlock?"

Sherlock just moaned something unintelligible and writhed on the bed.

"See, so much better with the toy isn't it? I'll have you coming down your own throat in no time." His brother's hips jerked reflexively at his words, and Mycroft smirked. "I should have known you'd get off on the idea."

When Sherlock seemed close to orgasm, he released the pressure on the toy. Sherlock made another unintelligible noise, this one far less pleasurable. Mycroft bent his head down so he could see Sherlock's face and smiled sweetly. "What was that, Sherlock?"

Sherlock opened his eyes wide and tried to glare, but with his cock stretching his lips tight, the effect was comical.

"Oh, you wanted _this_?" Mycroft said, innocently, and pressed the toy back against his sweet spot.

His brother's eyes fluttered closed, and a second later he resumed sucking himself in earnest.

Mycroft let him come back to a boil, and was about to deny him again, when he heard the faint sound of the front door being unlocked.

"Fuck," he muttered, and yanked his finger out of Sherlock's arse.

His brother opened his mouth to protest, and then realised what was going on as he heard footsteps on the stairs. "Fuck!" His legs uncurled from above his head and smacked firmly onto the bed. He groped for his clothes, but his trousers were on the other side of the room.

"Get under the bedclothes," Mycroft hissed as he wiped his hand off on Sherlock's shirt and shoved the lube back into the drawer in one smooth motion.

"But the vibrator…" Sherlock retorted, twisting his body to try and remove it. Even underneath the bedclothes, it was still vaguely audible.

"There's no time," Mycroft insisted. "Follow my lead," he added, as the front door opened. "And look ill."

The footsteps stopped.

"Sherlock?" John's voice called out. "Sherlock, are you here?"

"We're in here, John," Mycroft replied.

"Mycroft, is that you?" There were sounds of shopping being placed on the kitchen table as John headed towards the bedroom. He walked in, looking confused.

"Hello, John."

"What…" he looked at Sherlock in the bed, who looked like death warmed up. "What's going on? Is he alright?"

"Well," Mycroft replied, "Sherlock wasn't feeling well, and he thought it was appropriate to interrupt my meeting with the Prime Minister so I could bring him some aspirin and make him a cup of tea. He's feeling much better now though, aren't you Sherlock?"

On cue, Sherlock managed to look a bit less deathly ill. "Why bother you when I can irritate Mycroft?" he said, with a weak smile and a slight cough.

"You might need more than a few aspirin," John said, looking concerned. "Your face is all red and it looks like you've been sweating. Are you running a fever?" He reached his hand out to feel Sherlock's forehead.

"I think the fever's just broken, actually," Mycroft replied. "Probably the aspirin. There's a nasty little twenty-four hour thing going around at my office."

John stopped and cocked his head. After a couple of seconds, he said, "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Mycroft replied.

"Some sort of buzzing noise."

Mycroft pretended to listen for a few seconds. "No, I don't hear anything. Do you, Sherlock?"

His brother shook his head. "No."

"I'm _sure_ I can hear something."

"Perhaps it's the fridge," Sherlock ventured. "It was making an awful noise earlier, but I gave it a shove and it stopped. I've been meaning to mention it to Mrs Hudson."

"Huh. I'll go and have a look."

The second he walked out of the room, Sherlock pulled the buzzing vibrator from his arse and fumbled to turn the thing off. Mycroft shoved it into a tissue and slid it into the drawer a moment before John returned.

"No, the fridge was fine." He paused again, with a look of utter confusion on his face. "That's odd; I don't hear it anymore." He shrugged. "I must be getting old. Do either of you want any tea? It might make you feel better, Sherlock."

Sherlock nodded. "Alright, thanks."

John looked at Mycroft, who replied, "No, I really must be off, thank you."

"Right, just one then. Back in a bit."

Sherlock smiled and then rounded on his brother as John left the room. "Twenty-four hour flu, Mycroft? Really?"

"It worked, didn't it? Besides, you're on the mend. I imagine, what… six or eight hours should do the trick? Perhaps tonight as well if you want to be really convincing."

Sherlock just rolled his eyes. "I suppose it could have been worse. He could have walked in on us."

"Indeed, and that was _quite_ a compromising position you were in. I'm sorry you didn't get to finish today," he said, pressing on Sherlock's groin through the bedclothes. "But I promise I'll make it up to you," he added, and ran his tongue along the corner of his upper lip.

"Tease," Sherlock huffed.

Mycroft glanced towards the door to make sure John wasn't there, leaned down, and gave his brother a filthy kiss. "Next time, we'll do a little experiment and find out which you like better: me coming down your throat, or you…"

Sherlock threw Mycroft a lust-filled grin as his brother gathered up his coat and headed towards the door.


End file.
